


farewell's a warning

by GioseleLouise



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Human Sisyphus is Terrible, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maiming, Pining, Sisyphus Retelling, Thanatos has Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28938993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GioseleLouise/pseuds/GioseleLouise
Summary: Zagreus drags his feet forward. Bitterness is a heavy weight in his chest and he takes it out on a pebble, only- it’s not a pebble. His foot goes through it with a gasp and Zagreus squints, recognizes in the span of a breath the fuzzy edges of a large, dark gray feather."Thanatos?"--It's Zagreus, not Ares, that finds Thanatos chained in Tartarus.
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 273





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My New Year's Resolution was to finish my WIPs before starting more - so ofc, 3 weeks into 2021, here we are. 
> 
> Much love to Wendy for her help and support <3
> 
> Please mind the tags.

“That smile will get you into trouble, Zagreus.”

Zagreus grins out of spite and relishes the way Thanatos’ gaze lingers on his lips. 

"Trouble with you, Than, or with the rest of the Underworld? Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind the former.”

“Trouble with everyone,” Thanatos purrs, pressing his bottle to Zagreus' until the glass _clinks_. Zagreus ignores the playful glint in Than’s eyes and chugs nectar to drown his frustration. 

He should've expected that. Everything with Than is a half-step forward and a quarter-step back. They were two young gods playing at divine courtship; this thing between them is a languid, tangled mess meant to dent the eternity of their lives. 

Still, the urge to grab Thanatos and beg him to drop this charade crawls over his skin, up his spine, down the joints of his fingers. Thanatos is sitting so close, reclining comfortably on his palms; it's laughably easy to close the distance between them. To run his fingers through Than’s long silver hair and kiss him.

 _One day,_ Zagreus thinks, achingly. He downs the last of his nectar and lobs the bottle over the edge of their outlook. Someone will clean it up.

“Tartarus doesn’t look half bad up here. Either father’s been investing in extra contracts or you have a knack for finding the best places.”

“You know you could help your father. With the contracts, that is,” Thanatos tells him, frowning slightly. There’s a pause, then Thanatos shrugs and adds, “Regardless, I knew you would like it. Figure you don’t get to see this side of the Underworld.”

“I don’t get to see any side of the Underworld,” Zagreus points out, flicking a pebble over the ledge with his pointer and thumb. “Father still keeps me nice and busy in the Archives while you get to enjoy the surface. How is it, by the way? You promised you'd tell me about autumn."

"Working on the surface differs from enjoying it, Zag. Besides, I've told you: you wouldn't like it. Autumn or otherwise."

“Right,” Zagreus sighs. He throws his head back and stares at...darkness. Above him is Tartarus' stone ceiling; a cage; an ugly reminder of how he’s bound to the Underworld. No one escapes. Still, Zagreus wishes he could punch a hole through Tartarus’ cavern. Get a glimpse of the sun. Maybe he could sneak a work order to the contractors and get halfway through the crust before father notices.

He turns to Thanatos. “You complained that the sky is ‘too bright’ up there, not that I understand what that means, but it sounds nice. Honestly, I'd kill for a change. I think anything would be better than this.” Zagreus gestures dismissively towards the view.

“It’s not better,” insists Thanatos. His expression softens as he takes in the innumerable houses stretching to the horizon, the infinite lights sparking to life in the distance. Tartarus' never-ending growth reminds Zagreus of rats free to breed and nest, but, well - clearly he and Thanatos see things differently.

“Everything feels off on the Surface, Zag. But this...this is incredible.”

Zagreus nudges Thanatos’ knee with his own, because it’s insanity that Thanatos is staring at Tartarus so lovingly. 

Thanatos should be looking at _him_ like that.

“Want to switch places?” Zagreus asks, smirking. “You could play the trapped Prince and I could dress in your robes and cowl. If you teach me how to blink, I doubt father would even notice until the year is up. What is that thing you always say?” Zagreus drops his voice to a whisper, “ _Death approaches_.”

Thanatos chuckles and cocks his head. “You wish to be Death?”

A strand of hair flows over Thanatos’ shoulder and - Zagreus can’t help it. He leans in, tucks it behind Thanatos’ ear, and relishes the sound of Than’s breath catching. He’s so beautiful; Zagreus’ eyes trace him greedily, intently, taking in the sharp line of his cheekbones, the expanse of dark gray wings, his hair flowing like a river of silver down his back.

“...I’m willing to be anything if it means getting out of here, but I’d prefer if it was you, just for the added benefit of seeing you in my clothes. I think you’d look good in red, Than.”

He expects Thanatos to pull away, to shut him down with a smirk and a sharp comment, but Than just looks at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Thought about this, have you?”

“Yes,” says Zagreus, careless about how breathless he sounds.

“I would-” Thanatos sighs and shoots an irritated glance towards the ceiling. “Ugh. Sorry, Zag, work calls.” Thanatos gets up, graceful as always, and summons his scythe. “I told Olympus to wait for my return, but it seems they went ahead without me. I have to go.”

“Oh,” Zagreus mumbles. He swallows back his disappointment and collects himself as Thanatos holds out his palm, waiting for Zagreus to take it. 

Incredibly, Thanatos looks ready to go to work. It’s as if nothing between them had happened, and it kills him a little.

“You know I'll be able to find my way back," Zagreus grumbles. "I can literally see the House from here. You really don't have to chaperone me, Than."

"You know I have to, Zagreus. Look at this place. Many in Tartarus are unhappy with your father's sentencing. Am I to leave you here, weaponless and alone?"

Zagreus is about to balk when Thanatos adds, "I'd prefer knowing you were safe. Please, Zag."

He can’t argue when Thanatos uses that tone: soft and concerned and just shy of begging. Perhaps Than knows it too, because he holds his hand out further and treats Zagreus to a rare grin as he pulls him up.

“Come. Let’s go home.”

It’s the only warning Zagreus receives before gray wings encircle them. For a moment, Zagreus is shrouded in darkness before his world burns away in a flash of blinding green light and dark feathers. The ground beneath him vanishes, and Zagreus gasps as his gut lurches in freefall. He takes a breath to scream, flails out to grab onto something, _anything_ \- then registers something solid beneath his toes as his eyes adjust to his bedroom.

Thanatos is already gone.

“See you later,” Zagreus mumbles to no one.

He debates returning to the Archives to attack the parchmentwork father had dumped on his desk, but collapses on his bed instead. 

Above him, his ceiling tiles are an intricate patchwork of bright laurels and chthonic designs. Perhaps they’re meant to inspire him; incite pride in his heritage and the culture of the Underworld, but Zagreus feels like an animal in a small, fancy cage.

He shuts his eyes and thinks of graceful features and elegant gray wings, and wonders when he’ll see Thanatos again.

Early departures are another thing Zagreus should be used to, but isn't. 

But he figures he’ll get used to it one day. He has all of eternity to learn.

\---

Meg scrutinizes the ornate silverware, comically out of place against the lounge’s chipped stone tables and faded wallpaper, and raises a brow.

“Lavish, Zag. Was this an appropriate use of your allowance?” She drawls.

Their chef bows, apparently unoffended by the comment. With a flourish, the dome covering their dish vanishes and the heady scent of grilled Scyllascion fills the air. The coiled sea-serpent is excessively garnished with slices of fresh pom, fillets of Charp, and herbs plucked from Elysium’s fields. This is, unofficially, the most expensive dish on the menu, and only so because of Zagreus’ many customizations.

Meg blinks. 

Zagreus clears his throat and pushes the plate towards her. “It’s not like I have anything else to spend my gemstones on,” he points out. “I may as well go all-out for my friends. I know you like Charp.”

“You have the best problems,” Meg spears a fillet with her fork and sighs. “But I would’ve told you to save your money - your father needs me in Tartarus.”

“What? But you just got back!”

“The damned don’t torment themselves.” Megaera has the decency to look apologetic. She slices a generous portion of Scyllascion onto her plate and gestures to the head. “Brain’s all yours.”

“Thanks. You know, I was kind of hoping-” Zagreus bites back the plea he had rehearsed between endless bouts of parchmentwork. _I was hoping we could hang out. Maybe you could show me your favorite parts of Tartarus._ “-Well, nevermind. Seems like Father is spreading you and Than pretty thin these days.”

Meg shrugs, smooth, and picks at a slice of pom with dagger-sharp nails. “I haven’t seen Thanatos in a while, but I doubt that’s because of your Lord Father. The rumor is that Lord Ares is working him hard.”

He chokes. “Ares?”

“Evidently. Word from Hermes is that his brother has Than leashed to support his latest project. Olympus believes it's poetic, of course: _War and Death entwined once again_.”

“Right.” Zagreus forces himself to chew; can’t quite swallow with how dry his mouth is.

Ares’ last war was a nightmare for the Underworld. More shades roaming the halls, more paperwork to sort through, Father was a joy with all his increased expectations, and Thanatos-

Than was gone for a very, very long time. Zagreus is ashamed now of how much he ached for Thanatos’ return. He wonders how desperate he seemed, stepping out of the Archives every few moments to search for dark gray wings. Or how pathetic he looked, snapping to attention like Cerberus before a treat every time Thanatos’ name was mentioned in passing.

And when Thanatos did return, he was flushed and exhausted; talking in riddles about his incredible experiences alongside Lord Ares while Zagreus forced himself to smile, internally seething-

“Meg, when you say _entwined-_ ”

Bright copper eyes narrow. “Come on, Zag. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?” She teases. 

“I- no. Of course not,” he mutters quickly, wincing into his pulverized pieces of Charp, because absolutely nothing about that was convincing.

After a beat, the Scyllascion’s head slides onto the edge of his plate.

“It’s the job, Zagreus,” Meg tells him, brutally rational as always.

“I know it’s the job. It’s always the job. I’m not- I don’t…” Zagreus sighs. _You guys don’t know what it’s like being stuck in the House._

The words sit on the tip of his tongue. He said them once, to Meg and Than, and got nothing but a rebuke on how _fortunate_ he is to lack duties that take him outside the House. How _unbecoming_ this attitude is for a Prince of the Underworld. 

It’s pointless to repeat the conversation.

In front of him, Meg is silent, waiting expectantly, and Zagreus shrugs and murmurs, “Right. Well, it’s not like I even have anything to be jealous of.”

He can’t be jealous when Thanatos was never only _his_ to begin with.

Meg hums, “You don’t.”

Zagreus sighs at his food. The Scyllascion glares up at him pityingly. Silver clinks against silver in the heavy silence as Meg scarfs down a few more bits of fish. Her chair grates against the rug when she stands up and brushes his arm, gentle, "I need to run, but...next meal is on me. And I wouldn’t worry, this war will be over soon.” She squeezes his arm. “I’m sorry, Zagreus."

He’s not sure if she’s apologizing for her premature departure or for telling him about the Ares situation. Maybe both. Zagreus watches her leave, and only when the tip of her wing vanishes around the door’s worn borders does he slump, weightless, into his chair.

He’s alone again.

Without Meg’s company, the Lounge is another threadbare room among many. Another set of rickety chairs and frayed carpet. Another quiet crossroad to house the many, many souls waiting for judgement and form.

Zagreus’ skin vibrates from the monotony of it all. But there’s nothing to do but wait or return to endless parchmentwork, so he opts for neither and wastes time moving clumps of Scyllascion around his plate. ‘ _War and Death entwined once again_ ’ echoes in his head. His appetite is soured.

After an eternity, Zagreus drops his fork and buries his face in his hands. 

Perhaps he can convince Hypnos to put him to sleep until he or Achilles goes on break.

\---

“Satisfactory.”

Zagreus keeps holding his breath, doesn’t stop until Father slides the pile of papers to the side and meets his eyes. Something flashes across Father’s features, too fast to catch, and Zagreus can’t shake the feeling that the reaction is because of his own odd, green eye.

“It’s satisfactory,” Father repeats, frowning. “Although I’m unsure why this took so long. Didn’t I task you with this several days ago?”

There it is.

“I wouldn’t know,” Zagreus says evenly. “After all, I’m stuck here, father - how should I know what time it is? Perhaps if you allowed me to leave this never-changing House, I’d have a better understanding of how time passes.”

Father scowls down at him from the ludicrous height of his desk. “Your inability is no fault of mine. How many times have I told you to prepare the parchmentwork for a chthonic sundial? Blood and Darkness, boy, you’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Must I tell you again that it is form alpha-pi-alpha-iota-tau-nu-”

“-omega-tau-twenty-four, yes, father. I told you I looked and there is no such form-”

“-omega- _nu-_ twenty-four, Zagreus. No wonder you’ve done nothing. You never listen!”

Father's judgement stings like a slap to the face and Zagreus has to swallow down his anger, dig his nails into his palms to keep from growling back.

_Was that really necessary? Must you always embarrass me in front of everyone? Can’t you just answer my questions like a normal parent?_

Experience has taught him it’ll be much worse if he talks back, so Zagreus scowls back, silent, and ignores the itch of hundreds of eyes on his back. Really, he should be used to this by now. How many times has he dealt with Father’s snide remarks? Or the House’s strained silence as every shade within these halls eavesdrops on their arguments?

Father clears his throat, grabs an unfamiliar scroll from the side, and motions for Hypnos to call forward the next group of shades. Zagreus rolls his eyes, because of course Father can’t even dismiss him normally.

Zagreus says nothing, just storms towards the West Wing as the whispers start.

“ _Again? Gods, that boy never listens to his Lord Father…”_

_“It’s the fourth time Lord Hades has asked the Prince to requisition a sundial…”_

_“You think he’ll ever be worthy…”_

Hypnos shoots him a sympathetic smile and Achilles motions to talk, but Zagreus ignores them both. He’s tired of their pity. He ducks his head as he passes them, hating the heat in his cheeks and the stinging in his eyes.

Zagreus barrels into the Archives and into the innumerable rows housing rolled parchment. He hates how quiet it is here, too. How several dozen sets of eyes had snapped up to him, knowing exactly what had happened in the Main Hall. He hates how thin the walls are in the blasted Underworld and how every soul in the House will whisper about this for _ages_.

Zagreus bites his lip, pushes down his hurt like it’s something he can ignore instead of a burning ache gripping his chest. Watery eyes keep him from recognizing where he's going, but he doesn't care. He’ll look like a child if he hides in his room, so he pushes forward, turning and turning and turning.

Only when he’s hidden in one of the deepest, mustiest corners of the Archives does Zagreus finally allow a ragged sob to leave him.

\---

He should’ve done this a long time ago.

The House is a speck on the horizon behind him, the start of a path carved from fallen shades, broken chests, and cracked ceramic, and Zagreus has never felt more alive. 

Each victory feels like a mandate from his sacred blood; proof of his dominion over the Underworld. Half the shades he runs into aren't sure whether they should listen to him and the Stygius’ gleaming edge or to Father's law.

Regardless, he decides for them.

If Father wanted him weak, perhaps he shouldn’t have allowed Greece’s greatest warrior to mentor him. If Father wanted him hampered, perhaps he shouldn’t have gifted him a sword that can pierce the Underworld.

And if Father wanted him to stay, perhaps he should’ve made it obvious.

They’re all coming for him, Zagreus has no illusions otherwise. ‘ _There is no escape’_ is a promise and a threat bundled in one, and Hades always had a bite worse than his bark. Zagreus couldn't care less; he feels alive covered in blood and pain and the thrill of finally doing something for himself. Let them come: the Furies and the Hydras, Father himself. Let them all come. Stygius sings in his hands, in his blood, and Zagreus knows he was made for this.

Zagreus bursts into another chamber. He’s been going down now, instead of up, and has been for a while. Not that he cares; all paths in Tartarus coalesce to Asphodel eventually, and if not, he’s content being lost in the Underworld’s infinite chambers, fighting like his life finally means something.

This room is eerily empty, darker and older than anything he’s used to. The supports are pure rock, far from the columns of embellished primordial granite that frame the House’s walkway. Where he's used to bright chthonic fire illuminating a room, this one is lit by pockets of dim and yellowing candlelight.

A large pit splits the room. Zagreus takes a deep breath, gives himself a running start before jumping across. He blinks forward as soon as he feels himself fall, and just catches the edge with the balls of his feet. 

He chuckles, surprised, and suddenly imagines pretty golden eyes, their speaker clicking his tongue in mild reproach. _“Come now, Zag. You can do better than that. Here. Let me show you.”_

Guilt hits like a wave of ichor. It shouldn’t; Thanatos is the one that always leaves and Thanatos is the one that never says goodbye. Between work and Ares, Zagreus wonders if Than would even mourn his disappearance for long.

The thought upsets him more than his guilt. 

Zagreus drags his feet forward. Bitterness is a heavy weight in his chest and he takes it out on a pebble, only- it’s not a pebble. His foot goes through it with a gasp and Zagreus squints, recognizes in the span of a breath the fuzzy edges of a large, dark gray feather.

"Thanatos?" 

His voice echoes through the chamber. Overlapping reverberations ripple down the chasm until they fade into nothing. The chamber turns deathly quiet and Zagreus scans every crevice of the small, windowless room while a sense of foreboding crawls up his spine. Father _would_ send Thanatos after him. Perhaps Thanatos would’ve been able to convince him to return, once. 

Still, he can’t stop spinning the feather between his fingers. The shade of gray is exact, and it thrums with familiar magic. They grew up together, have known each other for aeons, and Zagreus would never mistake this power for anything else. It feels like the ghost of a knife is pressing his ribs, against his neck. Thanatos is the incarnation of Peaceful Death, and everything about him could end Zagreus in a moment.

He would lose to Thanatos for reasons beyond their difference in power. 

A part of him hopes that the feather’s presence is a coincidence. Maybe the Underworld had brought the feather here as a Keepsake. Something to remind him of what could have been. 

Zagreus sighs and tucks the feather in his pocket. Or maybe he’s being stupid.

“I know you’re here, Thanatos. Show yourself,” Zagreus demands.

"...Zag."

Zagreus’ blood chills, because that voice was labored and weak, and edged with just enough familiarity.

"Is this- is that you, Thanatos? Who am I speaking to?"

"Please..."

Zagreus trudges to the edge of the chasm with his heart in his throat. The pit is the only part of the chamber he hasn’t scrutinized, and he hopes beyond hope that Than is in the next chamber, rallying a group of shades to ambush him. Maybe this is a trap. Maybe this chamber is playing tricks on him. 

“Than? Hey, are you...”

He’s vaguely aware of Stygius clattering to the ground, his voice crying Than’s name as he spots a bowed head of silver at the bottom of the chasm. Liquid splashes Zagreus’ calves and pain edges his ankles from the long jump down, but-

“Than? What are you doing here? Hey, talk to me." Zagreus' voice cracks between shock and panic as he cups Than’s face in both palms. Something is very wrong. Than’s skin is ice cold and Zagreus feels his strength dip when his fingers meet Thanatos’ skin. He runs his hands down Than’s neck in the half-light, searching for wounds, and feels Than’s arms pulled tight to the sides of the chamber. 

“What happened here?” Zagreus traces Than’s arm until his hands wrap around cold metal. Immediately, Zagreus’ gut twists, and his fingers fly off as he lists to the side, nearly falling at the dizzying drain of energy.

“You-” Zagreus can’t finish his thought. He presses a hand against the wall, can’t quite catch his breath with how lightheaded he feels. 

Thanatos uses those chains to subdue the worst of his charges. He brings them in pliant, barely able to stand. The chains shouldn’t be on _him_.

“Than, where...where are your keys-”

No, Than doesn’t have keys for these. Thanatos uses his power to command the chains, and it’s rumored they could constrain the gods themselves. Whatever ability Thanatos could’ve used to unlock them vanished the moment the metal wrapped around his skin.

After a moment, Zagreus pushes off the wall. He sloshes around the chasm’s water until his feet catch on something. He picks up Thanatos’ scythe and cleaves through one chain. Immediately, Thanatos cries in anguish as his knees sink into the water.

“...Stop,” Thanatos mewls. “…it hurts.”

The second chain comes off quickly, and suddenly Zagreus is on his hands and knees, pulling Thanatos out of the water and onto his lap. Zagreus is babbling, half-incoherent as he begs Thanatos to say something. He can’t recognize his own voice, the poorly formed pleas that fall out of his mouth. _Are you okay, please say something, Than, please. Where does it hurt? I’ll help you. Than?_

Thanatos hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken through Zagreus’ rambling, and Zagreus forces himself to shut up. He can’t lose it right now; Than needs him.

The Prince swallows and whispers, “I’m going to get you out, I promise.”

He runs a shaky hand through Thanatos’ hair, and that feels off too. Zagreus has only touched Thanatos’ hair a handful of times, and never when it's soaked with sweat and water. Despite that, there’s a wrongness in the motion. 

He refuses to dwell on it.

“I-It’s going to be okay, Than. You’re alright.” 

The chasm’s opening is a painful distance above them. Zagreus knows he can’t blink himself to the ledge, let alone get both of them up there, and he curses himself. All that free time in the House, he could’ve been learning to blink further. 

“I’m going to carry you. Just give me a moment, and we’ll get out of here,” says Zagreus. He caresses the head in his lap as he studies the wall closest to them, mapping out footholds and his path out of the chasm. It won’t be easy. It’s sort of impossible, actually, and Zagreus ignores the nagging dread in his gut telling him they’re stuck here.

“...I’ll do it.”

The small, weary voice is the only warning Zagreus receives before everything burns away.

When Thanatos blinks, Zagreus expects a flash of green light. He's used to dark gray feathers skirting the edge of his vision; the world vanishing and reappearing before he can take a breath. What Zagreus receives is pain.

Light sears his eyes. Zagreus feels himself spinning, his limbs twisting until he thinks they'll snap off. Broken glass lines his throat on each inhale, and Zagreus doesn't realize he's screaming until his head slams into something jagged and unyielding.

Zagreus whites out briefly. He thinks he's still screaming, but the pain is so bright it erases all awareness for a few seconds.

Only when his eyes adjust does he see the state they’re in. A craggy column presses against his back. Thanatos is a heavy weight on top of him, his head tucked in Zagreus' shoulder. Bright gold ichor stains them both. Thanatos’ hair is crudely lopped off at the shoulders. One of his wings looks painfully twisted, patchy where it's missing feathers, while the other wing is - gone.

There's a gash in Than's back where the wing should be. Cracked bone juts out as ichor flows from the wound, running down Than's back and puddling around them like a lake.

If Zagreus wasn't hanging onto consciousness by his fingertips, he'd cry.

Shades crowd around them, staring in horror, and Zagreus can’t recognize where he is, nor can he breathe between the agony and terror coursing through him. He clutches Than’s cold, wounded body, and holds him tight, like Than can come alive from touch alone.

"Help him," he thinks he says.

The world turns black.


	2. Chapter 2

Zagreus wakes grasping at air, reaching for a weight that’s supposed to be sprawled across his chest and searching for a flash of silver and grey. He feels good, but there’s a bone-deep wrongness about it that crests with each breath, and when he blinks, visions of his escape wash over him in waves.

He sees Thanatos chained to the bottom of a pit in Tartarus. Thanatos, his head heavy in Zagreus’ lap and his voice ragged. Thanatos with a broken spirit, and a broken wing, and a broken body.

It's sickening, and Zagreus twists in warm, familiar sheets and quickly recognizes the intricate patterns of the ceiling tiles above him. 

He’s in his bed.

He’s in his bed, and there’s an abyss between how he got here and this memory that feels too horrific to be true.

“It was just a nightmare,” Zagreus tells himself, even as his voice cracks from disuse and his heart pounds in his chest, because he can still remember the taste of blood in the back of his throat after Thanatos blinked them out of the pit. He can still remember touching the frayed edges of Thanatos’ torn hair.

Grounding himself in reality doesn’t work. The patterns on his ceiling tiles stare back at him, winking in flickering candlelight like the dim lights in that pitted chamber- and Zagreus knows he'll go mad if he doesn't move.

He needs to go to the West Wing. He needs Thanatos whole and relaxed, by the balcony overlooking the Styx. Zagreus needs to see his pretty grey wings, and his playfully ambiguous smile, and he needs to know that things are exactly as they were before this horrible dream.

He swings out of bed and ignores the shakiness in his legs and the soreness that accompanies days-long immobility. It’s an ache he knows from the worst of his training and a handful of punishing spars with Alecto. Still, he convinces himself it’s because he slept poorly- because he has to _hope_ \- and shuffles out of his bedchambers, searching for signs of normalcy like he’s searching for a crutch to latch onto.

The East Wing is deserted; not a shade in sight. Nyx isn’t at her station, nor does Zagreus spot Hypnos at his, despite the lines of shades milling around the Main Hall. Perhaps the East Wing is empty because the Lounge’s door is shut, battered with Cerberus-sized claw marks and an ornate sign reading ‘ _Closed Indefinitely_ ’. Zagreus raises a brow; it’s odd, but nothing damning. He’ll have to uncover what happened later.

Father’s voice carries from the Main Hall, as enthused as anyone reciting ancient law by rote, and that, at least, is typical. Father glances up at the sound of Zagreus’ footsteps against the stone tiles and freezes mid-sentence, dropping the parchment in his hand. Every shade in the Main Hall follows father’s gaze and stares.

“Zagreus.” 

Father scans him for a long, silent moment, as Zagreus' stomach drops and any hope of waving off his memory as a nightmare goes with it.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking, boy?” Hades asks with undisguised concern.

“Is Thanatos home?” Zagreus asks breathlessly. “Is he alright?”

“Death is fine! He’s in his bedchambers. You should focus on your own behavior. What were you thinking? You’ve wrecked half the chambers in Tartarus, sent innumerable souls back to the Hall for processing, and you- what would you have done had you gotten lost? Wandered around Tartarus like a fool? Did you expect me to send Cerberus to sniff you out and fetch you? He’s ruined the Lounge after we discovered that you _ran away_ like a gods-damned child. You’re fortunate that Charon found-”

“I never thought you’d care this much,” says Zagreus sardonically. Of course, moments after waking up, Hades dresses him down before every soul in the Underworld. Disgusted, Zagreus turns on his heel, scanning the crowd, and realizes-

No one is around to take him to the lower levels of the House.

“Open the stairs to Thanatos’ chambers, father.”

Hades snorts. “And now you’d have me block off the East Wing so you may access the lower levels of the House. Have some awareness, boy. Do you not see the state you’ve put us in? Can you not read the room? Go rest and stop distracting me.”

Zagreus ignores the command. He gives a cursory glance at the shades blocking the Main Hall, and yes- there’s much more than usual. Magnitudes more, but it’s something to deal with after checking on Thanatos.

“The Lounge is closed anyway,” Zagreus tells him, crossing his arms. “No one’s even using the East Hall.”

“Indeed. The Lounge is ‘closed anyway,’” Father sneers. He picks up the parchment he dropped, squinting like he’s trying to find the spot he left off at. “As I mentioned, it’s because you’ve distressed Cerberus with your ridiculous tantrum. Just so you’re aware, I sent him to the Temple to take his energies out on the satyrs plaguing the entrance. A task I remember giving to you to deal with.”

Zagreus rolls his eyes as dramatically as possible, and father pretends not to see it.

“So we agree,” Zagreus says sharply, getting the conversation back on track. “For one reason or another, there are no shades using the East Wing.”

Father glares from the top of the parchment. “Perhaps you should have learned how to blink in all the time you’ve wasted not attending to your tasks. You would not need to rely on anyone, nor would you need me to create a staircase to everyone else’s inconvenience. Your behavior is unbecoming, Prince.”

Zagreus grits his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a shade bringing a ghostly palm to their face in scandalized shock. Gods, it’s just like father to do this in front of everyone.

He shouldn't be wasting his time on this conversation.

“Fine,” Zagreus spits, gesturing to the tall shade next to father's desk. “I will make it the House Contractor’s problem. I’m sure it’s an excellent use of House resources to carve a permanent staircase in the East Wing. You know, manually. It will probably take some time for him to fill it back up again-”

Father slams his fist against his desk, the _boom_ like a collision of stone on stone.

“I will open your damned staircase, just go! And make yourself useful after your visit since you insist on avoiding rest and common sense.”

Zagreus shrugs off his father’s outburst with a glare, too focused to dwell on his frustration, and turns back to the East Hall without another word.

The stone tiles lining the path to the gardens fade away, turning from stone to a blurry mass of color to clear air. Dark railings rise in the new space, outlining a grand descending staircase as black as night, save for hundreds of small, white dots that twinkle in the mysterious material. 

_Like stars,_ Zagreus thinks, awestruck. The entrance to Nyx and her family’s private chambers is as mystical and beautiful as she is.

Zagreus descends the enchanted staircase and through the finely carved hallways of the lower chambers. Where the Main floor is grand and imposing, Mother Night’s hall is elegant and private, the widths narrower and empty of visiting shades. Minute details are tucked in plain sight - in the jeweled capitals supporting the hall, the silver embroidered in the legs of silk drapes - hidden like secrets.

Zagreus passes the decorated archway leading to his foster mother’s quarters, turns the corner, and stops before the draped hall to Thanatos’ bedchamber.

“Hey, Than?” Zagreus holds the fabric aside. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

He gets no answer, and he should really take that as a sign to turn back and respect Thanatos’ boundaries. It’s the right thing to do, but the need to see Thanatos is like an itch gnawing at his chest. Zagreus is breathing hard from the anticipation of it all, nearly vibrating out of his skin, and he pushes through the thick violet drapes before common sense takes over.

He'll just take a quick peek. 

If Than is asleep, he’ll catch the rise and fall of Than’s breathing and wait for him in the Main Hall, like he always does. It’ll be business as usual, like nothing’s changed. He just needs to see that Than is alright.

When Zagreus walks in, he first notices the thick silence that hangs over Thanatos’ chambers. Walls of granite insulate them; if it weren't for the jeweled weapons adorning the walls and the elegant rugs criss-crossing the floors, he'd think he was in a tomb.

Thanatos always had taste, but Zagreus grew up unsettled coming to his room. Maybe it’s intentional: a mausoleum in the Palace of the Underworld; a temple to and for Death in the Land of the Dead.

"Than," Zagreus whispers. "Are you awake?"

Sheer silk shutters Than's canopy bed, and Zagreus barely makes out a vague silhouette sitting against the headboard. His hands wrap around the soft silk before he even realizes he’s reaching out, and-

He doesn’t recognize the figure in the bed.

The man is unusually pale. His bare torso moves with each labored breath, stretching the stark white bandages wrapped tight around his chest. He looks small without wings, and Zagreus’ stomach flips when he realizes _both_ wings are missing. Thanatos is almost unrecognizable with his hair cut close to his scalp save for some bangs that hit his ears, and _that_ , for some reason, is when it clicks.

Realization doesn’t dawn so much as kick Zagreus in the ribs. It’s his hair. Zagreus’ heart aches when he thinks of the old length. How it flowed majestically down Than’s back, or trailed after him when it got too long and he floated away in a hurry. Sometimes Than would braid it on special occasions. He’d hold the braid with golden chthonic accessories and adorn it with a simple golden headpiece, and Zagreus would spend the entire occasion sneaking peeks at his friend, looking at Thanatos in wonder and want. And now...

“Oh, Than.” 

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken until Thanatos’ eyelids flutter; the edges of his dull gold irises peeking under heavy lids. 

“...Zagreus?”

“Than,” he breathes. It takes a moment to remember how to form sentences. “Are you- how are you feeling?”

“What do you think?”

He looks worse the longer Zagreus looks at him. He’s sickly all over: parchment pale lips, sweat-dotted pallid skin, and dull, cloudy eyes. The planes of him are familiar, he feels like Than, but the shape of him is wrong. The details are wrong. The more Zagreus studies him, the more off he feels, and Zagreus feels like he’s holding his breath, waiting for the real Thanatos to emerge from the shadows, winged and beautiful and healthy.

“You should go if you’re going to gawk,” says Thanatos after a labored breath. “I’m aware of what I look like.”

“No, I’m not-” 

Thanatos throws him a venomous look.

Zagreus sighs, “Sorry. I just...I wasn’t expecting...” 

That makes it worse. Thanatos’ face crumples up, his sharp expression shattering into something tender. Thanatos dips his head like he wants his hair to hide his face, but he can’t, and that’s heartbreaking. 

Guilt washes over Zagreus like a bucket of ice water. He should make this better, not worse. Zagreus looks around awkwardly, scanning for a change of subject, and notices rolled parchments by Thanatos’ side.

“What were you reading?” Zagreus asks.

Thanatos follows his gaze. “Oh. The work that’s been done while I slept.”

“The work that’s been- you mean, to you?” Zagreus asks, horrified.

“No, you fool. The work Charon and Hermes have taken in on my behalf.” Thanatos adds in disbelief, “Is it not abundantly clear what has been done to me?”

“Yes. No, sorry, I meant...” Zagreus wants to kick himself - wrong, again. Thanatos shuts his eyes as Zagreus scrambles for words. 

“Er, are you happy? With the report, I mean?” 

Thanatos shrugs, and hisses suddenly, shoulder tensing as he slowly brings it back down. 

“...Ugh. I guess? They seem to handle everything fine according to these reports. It’s like they don’t even need me. I suppose it’s a fine way to announce my retirement.”

“What? No! Than, Father wouldn’t do that. Even though-I mean, Nyx won’t let him. _I_ won’t-”

“It was a joke, Zagreus.”

“Oh.” Zagreus barks a weak laugh that dies in the heavy silence. “Yeah. Right.”

Missing a step is putting it lightly. If they were dance partners, they’d be stepping on each other’s toes, following different music. It shouldn’t be like this. Thanatos holds his heart close to his chest, and Zagreus wears his on his sleeve, but they’ve always been able to meet somewhere in the middle. 

Mentally, he takes a step back and recalls their past interactions. When Thanatos draws in on himself, Zagreus’ best option is sincerity. It used to make Thanatos smile, and Zagreus latches onto that hope and starts again.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted,” says Zagreus, and that feels more right than anything else. 

“I was so worried about you and I don’t think I could have focused on anything else until I came to see you. I’m sorry for disturbing your rest.” His fingers graze the back of Thanatos’ hand, itching to take it in his own. “Do you remember what happened?”

A long silence passes. Thanatos doesn’t look up, nor does he react to the patterns Zagreus draws on his skin. His bangs shade his eyes, masking his expression. 

Eventually, Thanatos mumbles, “I remember.” He takes a deep breath and settles against the headboard. “I'm sorry. You should not have found me that way. Yet, I should be grateful. I _am_ grateful. Mother said I would have died if you hadn’t rescued me.”

“ _You’re_ sorry…?” Zagreus is about to balk, but his brain catches up with the rest of Than’s words. “Wait, you would have died? So what? Than, there’s nothing wrong with walking out of the Styx.”

It’s embarrassing, especially for someone as proud as Thanatos, but it happens to the best of them. Come to think of it, perhaps death is the best option. Thanatos would return to them healthy and whole.

“I wouldn’t have walked out of the Styx,” Thanatos whispers. He's still not looking at Zagreus. “Not while I was in those chains. I still wouldn't if...something were to happen to me now."

“What are you talking about?”

None of this makes sense, but his curiosity is overshadowed by the slump of Thanatos’ shoulders. Than turns his head away, shifting his bangs, and his expression makes Zagreus want to push into his bed and wrap his arms around him. This is a part of Thanatos that Zagreus has never seen before. This is Thanatos afraid.

The Than he knew would have blinked away when he got upset. This version is like a cornered animal, like someone hiding a wound from a predator, and Zagreus wonders if blinking was taken from him too.

"Look at me, Than."

“I should rest.” Thanatos’ voice cracks with emotion, and he pulls away from Zagreus’ touch. It’s a clear dismissal. Zagreus knows what his own voice sounds like before he breaks down, and he knows the burning desire to be alone with his own vulnerability.

"Yeah, of course. Please, let me know if I can do anything,” says Zagreus softly. It sounds laughably lame, an empty promise floating in the charged air. 

“I can visit you later if you’d like, Than. You know, when you’re feeling better, or whenever, really. Father warned me I’m a very insistent distraction.”

That would’ve gotten a laugh, once. Instead, Thanatos shrugs slightly, or maybe he just shifts his weight.

“Perhaps.”

Zagreus leaves him, then. He marches through the quiet lower levels of the House, back to the main floor and sulks about the administrative chambers for lack of anything better to do.

Thanatos never asks him to visit, nor does he come out of his chambers, and a shameful amount of time passes before Zagreus does something about it.

\---

“Form alpha-pi-alpha-iota-tau-nu-omega-nu-twenty-four.”

The house contractor takes the parchment, gives it a quick once over, and tucks it away. Above them, father’s quill stops mid-scratch. 

“Have you secured the funds for this purchase?”

“Check the paperwork if you’re so worried, father,” Zagreus sighs pointedly. “It seems the House Contractor finds everything in order.”

Father scoffs. A measured pause passes before his quill picks up again. 

“...Good of you to finally accomplish this.”

Zagreus shrugs, and without looking up, says, “We should know how much time has passed since, well-” Zagreus shifts his weight, and shakes off the image of pallid skin and heavy-lidded eyes. “...I figured it’s just good to know how much time is passing.” 

He hands the House Contractor a sack of gemstones and another form. This time, it’s a request for a grand rug embroidered with chthonic designs.

“Place it outside Thanatos’ bedchambers, please.”

The shade takes the form, nodding, and Zagreus realizes the scratch of quill on parchment has stopped once again. When he looks up, father is studying him, his brows furrowed.

“That is a costly purchase,” father observes, not unkindly.

“And a worthy one,” Zagreus finishes, unflinching.

Father hums.

\---

The trial starts with thunder-like fanfare; Lord Zeus delivers the prisoner with a blinding bolt of lightning and a _crack_ that echoes throughout the Main Hall.

“Sisyphus,” says Father expectedly, steepling his fingers. The shades filling the House quiet down to hushed whispers.

“You are to stand trial for your crimes against the will of the gods and deviation against the natural order.”

“L-lord Hades? Gods. Is this- I am in the Underworld?”

The former King of Ephyra is smaller than Zagreus expected, though anyone would be smaller than the person Zagreus built in his head. Zagreus anticipated a monster. He imagined a sinister-looking soul whose intentions bled from their pores and poisoned the air around them.

This mortal seems as awestruck as any other. Sispyhus gapes at father, at Megaera and Achilles flanking his desk with their weapons out, then he turns his head and nearly flails on his side at Cerberus sitting at attention in the archway of the West Wing. The chains binding him to the ground rattle as they keep him upright.

On Zagreus’ left, Hypnos chuckles.

“Lord Hades,” Sisphyus starts. “It is an honor to meet you, God of the Underworld. Please, sir, take pity on a confused mortal. This is a huge misunderstanding.”

Zagreus tenses, and Hypnos elbows him. The God of Sleep’s arms are crossed, his posture relaxed, but the hand tucked under his elbow goes flat and comes down. _Chill out, Zag._

“Oh? Then let us hear your version of events,” Father says calmly. 

To his credit, Sisyphus straightens his posture and manages to look dignified while chained and kneeling. The mortal clears his throat and recites the most prepared speech Zagreus has ever heard.

“The Great Lord Zeus had punished me for reuniting a father and daughter, sir. He sentenced Death to bind me to a pit in the Underworld, but Lord Thanatos must have seen the injustice of my sentencing. After taking me to Tartarus, he listened to my story and granted me his sword so I may use his magic to return to the Land of the Living. O mighty Lord Hades,” Sisyphus bows his head, and even that looks insincere. More of a flail of his head than a controlled show of respect.

“Surely you must see that I am only guilty of receiving a hasty sentence from the righteous God of Thunder, for even your servant saw to dismiss his charges.”

For a moment, the only sound in the hall is the scratch of quill against parchment. The shade in the House Contractor’s desk finishes his notes with a flourish and looks to father.

Hades’ brimstone eyes flicker to the mortal. “And what of your interaction with Thanatos?”

“As I’ve said, great God of the Underworld, Death generously gifted me with his sword so I may escape the realm.”

“What was his state before you escaped?”

Sisyphus swallows. “Lord Hades?”

“What was Thanatos’ state before you escaped?”

“Sir, he had his chains in hand. I believe he was ready to bind me, but...like I said, he looked fine.”

“Did you, now?” Asks Hades. “I don’t recall you saying that. Are there any souls that can corroborate your testimony?”

“I-I don’t believe so, sir. Lord Thanatos had dutifully followed Lord Zeus’ instructions and brought me into a deserted chamber.” Sisyphus swallows then, and his voice comes out tight. “Perhaps Death can confirm what I’m saying...if he’s...available?”

“Perhaps he shall,” Father looks at Zagreus, and it takes a moment for Zagreus to realize that father is looking past him and at the staircase behind their pew.

“Thanatos? Can you provide your testimony?”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Zagreus swivels to catch Thanatos walking up the beautiful staircase. 

He looks much worse in the light. 

Thanatos stands straight, taking measured steps towards the Main Hall, but Zagreus can sense his weakness. He moves without his typical grace, and his golden adornments are gone. Fresh white bandages peak out from his loosely fitted grey chiton and as Thanatos turns to glare at the kneeling mortal, Zagreus notices how much thinner he’s gotten.

“Weren’t expecting me to live, were you?” Thanatos asks. Despite his weakness, Thanatos’ voice carries throughout the Main Hall and silences the audience. “Lord Hades, I am here to give my testimony.”

Father nods. “Please.”

“Lord Zeus called me to punish Sisyphus by chaining him in Tartarus for an indeterminate amount of time. As I was doing so, the mortal asked about the chains I would use to bind him to the Underworld. He was interested in the scope of their power and how they would feel. I told him they would drain him. Naturally, he was terrified. Who wouldn’t be after learning of such a fate?” 

Thanatos pauses then. To anyone else, he’d look fine, but to those that know him, the gesture is off. He’s breathing hard, struggling at composure, and Zagreus has to dig his nails into his thighs to keep from reaching out to him.

“My first mistake was pitying him,” Thanatos continues. “I demonstrated the chain’s effects on my person. It saps my power, yes, but I could always blink. I was not afraid when he chained me to the wall of the pit. Mortals act recklessly when faced with Death. They often do things they should not, why should this one behave any differently? Especially considering the circumstances of his fate.”

Thanatos pauses again to rest. The hall is silent, save for Thanatos’ measured breathing. It’s as if every soul in the House is leaning forward to hear him.

“My second mistake was giving Sisyphus an opportunity to relent. I warned him that the chains wouldn’t deter me. I warned him that I could blink out of them easily and inform Lord Zeus and Lord Hades of his behavior. I gave him an opportunity to accept his fate.”

Thanatos stops then, and takes a long, labored breath. “...and so he maimed me. He stole my sword and disfigured me until the chains sapped enough of my strength. Eventually I stopped recovering. When he finished his task, he asked if I would die in these chains and if so, would mortals live forever? Would he? Then he abandoned me.”

The weight of Thanatos’ words shatters the hall. The audience erupts in theatrics, Father shifts in his chair, displeased, while Achilles and Megaera glare down at the prisoner. Thanatos remains standing, swaying slightly, and Zagreus drowns in the horror of his testimony. 

Zagreus formed a vague understanding of the torture Thanatos endured from snippets he picked up from Mother Nyx and Hypnos. Hearing the events from Thanatos himself is a new horror, like reopening a wound.

“Well. It seems your testimonies are wildly unaligned,” says Father, booming over the din. He leans in his chair, his brimstone eyes sharp and terrifying. “So who is the liar, Sisyphus? You, or a god?”

There lies the point of this entire trial: an impossible question for any mortal, and one with a singular answer. 

The pantheon never pretended they could not bleed, or die, or escape humiliation. They are too proud of the myths of their conquest over their parents, and if Titans can be killed and brought low, the gods can too. While they don’t pretend at immortality, they make a show of ruthlessness, of vengefulness, and vindictiveness. 

They ensure the whole world knows that between a mortal and the gods, the gods will always win, and they will ruin anyone who dares to stand against them.

Sisyphus seems to understand, because he melts into himself.

“Me, Lord Hades. I am the liar,” he mutters to the ground.

“Indeed,” agrees Father. He settles back in his seat, and he seems almost bored now that the deception has been revealed. 

“For your crimes against the pantheon, your punishment includes keeping your mortal form for eternity.”

Sisyphus doesn’t react, but everyone else does. Achilles winces, and next to Zagreus, Hypnos tenses noticeably. 

Keeping their mortal form always seems like a blessing to humans until they realize just how inhospitable Tartarus and Asphodel can be. Only those with Hades blessing truly enjoy corporeality. As for the rest of the poor souls, they beg to cut off their tongues after a few days of tasting ash and sour water. After their skin burns and their bodies are covered with cuts and blood, they crave ethereality. This man will spend eternity starving, parched, and in never-ending pain.

“Additionally, my brother recommended another punishment. He says you are to push a boulder to the top of Tartarus.” Hades pauses for drama and adds lazily, “And should the boulder careen, you will start over until your task is complete. Mindless work is a good way to reflect. Megaera, you and your sisters will oversee this mortal’s...penance.”

The Fury steps forward with her whip coiled like a serpent around her hand; the thick pink rope glows bright against the fires of the Main Hall. She walks forward until she towers over the mortal, eclipsing him in her shadow. Sisyphus cowers.

“I will be thorough, Lord Hades,” she says calmly. “He won’t be the same person after I’m through with him. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Excellent,” Hades gestures to the Main Hall. “Your sentence is effective immediately, mortal. Take him away, Megaera, and let us all get back to work.”

Megaera wraps her wing around the pathetic man and they vanish in a flash of pink light. The shades in the Main Hall fall into messy lines, and Zagreus is vaguely aware of the Main Hall returning to normal.

It doesn’t matter. His attention is on Thanatos as he staggers towards the East Hall. Zagreus blinks to his side in seconds, holding a hand out to steady him.

“Your testimony was incredible, Thanatos. Are you alright? Do you want to sit down?”

Death ignores him and pushes towards the stairs. He latches onto the railing, and only when he’s leaning heavily against the bannister, does he look back towards the Main Hall. He wipes a bead of sweat from his neck and breathes before mumbling, “Hello, Zag.”

“Do you need-” 

Thanatos waves off his arm. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Thanatos doesn’t answer, merely shuts his eyes and presses his lips into a thin line, like he’s concentrating. Zagreus grabs his shoulder to steady him.

“Um. We can sit down, if you’d like? Did you...happen to see the rug outside your room? Thanatos?”

“What?” His eyes flicker open, and Thanatos studies him for a long moment. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”

“Can I-”

“Sorry,” he interrupts, voice labored. He shrugs off Zagreus’ hand and turns away. “Let’s talk later, Zag. No, I’m fine, you don’t have to help me.”

Dumbfounded, Zagreus stands before the staircase and watches Thanatos disappear into the lower levels of the House. He sighs, resigned to fret over Thanatos in the mindless tasks of the Administrative Chamber, and turns to see Nyx and Hypnos watching him.

He must look truly pathetic; they’re wearing the same shamelessly pitying expression.

“Oh, don’t be so down, Zag,” starts Hypnos with a weak smile. “Come on, my brother’s just like that. Thought you’d be used to it by now.”

“He holds his emotions close to his chest, our Thanatos," Nyx amends. "My son does not enjoy expressing how he feels, and he loathes showing vulnerability most of all. I must ask you to be patient as he recovers. You’ll forgive him for his behavior, won’t you?”

“Yeah. Of course,” says Zagreus quickly. “He hasn’t done anything wrong, Nyx. I know he hasn’t. I just want to help him, but it’s like he doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m probably the only one in court that didn’t know he was testifying.”

“No, trust me, he wants to talk to you,” chimes Hypnos, golden eyes twinkling. “He always wants to talk to you, but he doesn’t want you looking at him like he’s so, you know... _In progress_.”

Nyx throws her son a sharp look. They share an unspoken internal conversation, before Hypnos throws his hands up.

“My bad, mother. I didn’t mean it like _that._ ” The God of Sleep purses his lips, contemplative, and adds, “Zag, what’s your surefire way of getting him to talk to you?”

Zagreus shrugs. There were few reasons why Thanatos carved out time for him, other than wanting to see him and having enough free time for an excursion in the Underworld. 

“For the same reason everyone rushes to speak to me, I suppose. Usually to talk to me when I mess something up.”

“Oh, that’s work for him, though,” Hypnos points out, frowning slightly. “So, I guess, maybe do the opposite of that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to the wonderful Wendy for all her help and support <3
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is much appreciated ^_^ Come say hi @ giosele.tumblr.com


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